


Choose

by ununquadius



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Afterlife, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Resurrection, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-12-06 22:06:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18226019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ununquadius/pseuds/ununquadius
Summary: Draco attempted to kill himself, but something went wrong with the spell he used, so he has an hour to decide if he really wants to stay dead or he wants to come back to life. An angel will help him decide.





	Choose

**Author's Note:**

> Everytime I feel sad, I kill Draco so here you go.
> 
> A big thank you to ThestralHouseofBlack for being an amazing beta <3
> 
> Hope you like it!

He opens his eyes and looks around in wonderment. So, this is Death. There aren’t angels, or a meadow, nothing he has imagined; just a light, purple cloud in all directions. 

“Hello, Draco,” an ethereal voice says near him. 

He looks around, but all he can see is the cloud. 

“Hi,” he says tentatively. “Who are you?”

“I’m your angel.” Next to him, the cloud becomes darker and darker, until a beautiful, tall woman appears. She has long, black hair, and is wearing a long tunic. “I’m Cassandra, and I’m here to tell you that I’m very disappointed on you.”

“What?” Anger rises in his chest. Or, in what would have been his chest. He isn't conscious of having a body anymore. 

“You had a perfect life ahead of you, and instead, you killed yourself.”

“It wasn’t perfect. I… I’m better off dead.”

“Are you sure?” She raises an eyebrow, a gesture that reminds him of his father. 

“Yes. I don’t deserve to be alive.”

“You’re missed right now.”

“I don’t think so.” He feels a pang of guilt. He knows he has hurt people when he killed himself, but he is sure they’ll get over it soon. He isn’t that important, anyway. 

“Okay, we’ll get to that. But first… You have a choice, Draco. The spell you used didn’t work well. You aren’t dead yet, you can still come back if you want.”

He can’t even kill himself correctly. 

“I don’t want to come back. Don’t you understand? I want to be dead, I can’t bear life anymore. It’s too much, I don’t deserve it,” he is panicking now, and begging with all his soul to stay in this peaceful place. “Please. I want to stay here.”

“You have an hour to make your decision, Draco. Are you sure you don’t want to think about that a bit more?” Cassandra looks intently at him. 

“I’m sure. Please.”

“They miss you. Your family and friends are suffering because they need you.”

The pang of guilt again. He doesn’t want to make them suffer, but he didn’t feel as though he had another option. He is unworthy of life. 

“They’ll get over it.”

She raises an eyebrow again. 

“Let’s go back to Earth and visit them.”

They appear in a hospital room. Draco can see his own body laying in a bed, and part of him misses it. It felt good having a body. In a chair next to his bed, he sees his father. He has his hands around one of Draco’s hands, and his gaze is fixed on Draco’s face, as if he was watching for changes in his son’s features. At the other side of the bed, is his mother. She is standing still, her eyes on Draco’s chest, making sure it keeps rising with each weak inhalation. 

“They’re suffering,” Cassandra’s voice startles him. 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t come back for them.”

“Lucius is blaming himself right now. He thinks it’s his fault you killed yourself.”

“What? No! It wasn’t!” Draco looks from Cassandra to his father, horrified. It is his own fault, not his father’s. It was he who felt inadequate for the world, unworthy of it; his father made him feel as though he deserved the whole world and more.

“He thinks that if he hadn’t gotten himself locked up in Azkaban, you wouldn’t have become a Death Eater. You’d be happier, and, you wouldn’t have suicide.”

“It wasn’t his fault. I was proud of being a Death Eater. It was my fault,” he wishes he can say so to his father, to wipe the blame away from his face.

“And Narcissa,” Draco turns to her now, still standing, and still a sentry to his breathing. “Narcissa blames herself, too. She thinks she wasn’t a good mother to you, that she should have being there for you lately, that she didn’t listen to you as much as you needed.”

“She listened, but I didn’t say much to her. I pushed her away.” He wants to cry, and wants to make them understand that they aren’t to blame, that they did all they could for him. It was he who was fucked up.

“And the worst part… it’s how much they’ll miss you, if you choose to stay dead.”

“They have each other.”

“But they won’t have you, their only son. Do you know how happy they were when they learned they were to be parents? How much they daydreamed about having you with them when you were still only the size of a nut? How proud of you they were when you took your first steps, ate your first solid food, or just laughed? How Lucius cried the first time you called him “papa”? How Narcissa watches her memory in a Pensieve of you calling her “mama” when she feels sad, because that is her happiest memory? How much they love you? How far are they willing to go for you? They love you, Draco.”

He wants to cry for a different reason now. Of course, he knew they loved him, but only now he is fully conscious of how much. Now he can picture young versions of the tired Lucius and Narcissa he sees in front of him, wishing for a baby and loving him with everything they had. He has seen the pictures of them holding him when he was born, and the happiness was palpable even in the black and white photographs. 

“Do you still think they’ll get over it?”

“No…” he says. 

“Do you want to go back?”

“I can’t. They’ll miss me, but… there’s nothing there for me. My life was fucked up, a mess. I don’t want to go back to that.”

“Parts of your life were a mess, but others weren’t. What about your friends?”

And without notice, they fly away from the hospital, and into a boy’s bedroom. The bedroom is big, but not as large as Draco’s room in the manor, although the furniture is just as rich. Seated in a small sofa is a plump boy. Gregory Goyle. He plays with his wand, rolling it in his hands while he stares at the carpet. 

“Who is he to you?” Cassandra asks.

“One of my best friends,” Draco’s chest hurts a little. 

“And you just left him alone.”

“He has other friends,” he shrugs as if he doesn’t care. But he does, because he knows all too well that Greg doesn’t have friends anymore, that his two best friends, his only true friends, have gotten themselves killed. 

“You know he hasn’t.”

“Well, maybe this is good for him. Then, maybe he can make new friends. Better friends,” he says angrily, because he knows what Cassandra is about to do, and he doesn’t want to hear it.

“He won’t. He still has Theo and Pansy, but they were your friends, not his. And do you think they or other people are going to love him and understand him as you did? They won’t. He has shared his childhood and his teen years with you. He has faced very scary things with you, and that it’s a link he can’t share with anyone else. And he loves you, Draco, and he misses you.”

“He shouldn’t. I haven’t been a good friend to him.”

“In his eyes, you have. You befriended him when nobody else did. You listened to him, gave him advice and encouraged him to date that girl he liked. You showed him he was better than what his parents said to him and what everybody else thought of him. You trusted him with your secrets. So tell me, Draco, why wouldn’t he miss you? He loves you.”

Draco looks at his friend. He looks tiny, although he’s bigger than Draco. He looks lost, alone in a world too big for him. And Draco feels a pang of longing, of being there with him, joking and laughing, talking about their lives with carelessness, as it used to be before the self hatred hit him. 

“Do you want to go back?” 

And this time, he wants to say yes, because that part of his life was fine. That part used to be painless, a corner of light in a world of darkness, but the light wasn’t bright enough to fight it. He shakes his head. He can’t go back just for Greg.

“Okay, I’ll convince you with this one,” Cassandra smirks as Greg’s room starts to fade around them. 

“I doubt that.”

However, he knows she might be right when he sees where they are. They’re in an ugly park in front of St Mungo’s, and there, seated in the grass, is Harry. And his heart sinks, because he knows he hurt him, because he hurt himself too when he cast the spell before even saying goodbye to his boyfriend. 

“He’s broken without you.”

Draco wants to refute Cassandra’s words, but Harry looks lost, as if he hasn’t got anything left in the world.

“He’s angry at you too, by the way, because you didn’t say goodbye to him.”

“I couldn’t. If I talked to him, I knew I couldn’t do it. And I needed to do it, because I knew it was the best for everyone.”

“Hasn’t what I’ve shown you told you anything? Haven’t you realised that what you did wasn’t the best for anyone, not even you?”

“It was.”

“Harry’ll get over it? Is that what you think?”

“Yes,” he whispers, his eyes on Harry, who is wiping away tears. 

“You know that isn’t true. Yes, he’ll move on with his life. He’ll marry Ginny Weasley and he’ll be happy with her…,” Although Draco has removed himself from Harry’s way, he can’t help the jealousy that goes through him like a storm. He wants that for himself. He wants Harry to be happy with him, not with Ginny. “...but he’ll miss you all his life. If you come back, you’ll be happy together. The pain won’t disappear, Draco, but you can heal, you can be happy with the person you love. You two can live together, share a life.”

“Will he be happier with me?” he says, trembling. He can’t imagine his presence would make Harry as happy as he makes him feel. But the Harry that he has in front of him is so miserable, that it hurts only looking at him. 

“He will. He loves you, and he needs you. He has his own wounds that need healing, and you can help him there. So, do you want to go back?”

Draco can’t answer. He’s looking at Harry and thinking about how much he misses him. He’d like to talk to him, to tell him that Death is just a purple cloud and that Cassandra is a bit fucked up for an angel, making him feel guilty for killing himself, and he wants to hug him, and to be hugged. He misses that, the only thing that can make him feel better, his boyfriend’s arms around him. And if he chooses Death, he won’t have that anymore, “but you’ll be free of the pain and the hate” a little voice says in his head. If he chooses Life, he’ll have Harry back, and his friends, and his family. However, he’ll have to face the pain, the desperation and the angst again. 

“Do I have to choose now?”

“You have ten minutes until the hour is up.”

He sits himself in front of Harry, wondering what to do, what’s the right option. After a while, Cassandra touches his shoulder and raises an eyebrow. Draco drags his gaze away from Harry and nods. 

 

***

 

He opens his eyes and looks around curiously. The last thing he remembers is casting a spell that was supposed to kill him, but he finds himself in a hospital room instead. 

“Hey, babe.”

He looks to his side, from where the voice came, and finds Harry looking worriedly at him. Draco tried to smile, to reassure him, to say that everything is okay, because that’s what he does, but this time, this time it’s different. This time he wants to be held.

“Hey, can you hug me?” he asks weakly.

Harry smiles and launches himself forward, embracing him and scaring the darkness away. And for a glorious moment, all is well.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
